


Immortalized

by fauxpromises



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 15:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1433068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauxpromises/pseuds/fauxpromises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The origin of the Ambassador, and some foreseeable results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Immortalized

The smallest twitch of a smile found its way onto his face as he emerged into the crowded Paris thoroughfare.

His recently retrieved commission had been wrapped carefully in cloth by its engraver and concealed on his person until such a time that he could take a longer look at it. From the brief glance he had stolen of it in the shop, he had no doubts as to its perfection.

To that end, only two questions remained. The first regarded whether he had the fortitude of pride to allow her to see the petty little token of love. And the second? Whether she had found her way back to the crossroads that they had agreed to rendezvous at.

Still his thoughts were drifting to the item that he could feel hiding against his body, the anticipation of seeing it in the light. That happened to be one of his favorite traits of a weapon—how the light glanced off of it. Whether it be a knife or a gun, he found that particular attribute irresistible. Enhancing it with a fine image such as the one he had given it only magnified that greatness.

Turning the corner, his gaze immediately found the spot they had agreed to meet at; her bright yellow spring dress drew one's eye straight to her. In years past she would have had her dark hair falling down in loose curls past her shoulders, but age and motherhood had left her with only enough vanity to keep a short and simple style. Even still she remained nonetheless ravishing, and nonetheless his.

Her eyes were currently directed down at the ground. He said nothing as he approached the bench she had seated herself on, making note of the way she was nervously fiddling with her purse. She did not seem to notice him until he had taken the spot beside her, and he could feel her glance over at him sideways.

"Don't I know you, stranger?" she chuckled, though her voice remained uncharacteristically hesitant.

He smiled almost coyly at her. "We could pretend you don't. Then I'd say something horribly cliche, sweep you off your feet, and—"

"Hm. I think I'll pass this time." Her eyes were playful as she shot him down. "Too tired even for being swept off my feet, honestly."

"I was more expecting you to go overboard shopping, actually," he finally pointed out. "But it seems like _you've_ been waiting on _me_ , if I'm not mistaken."

She shook her head despondently. "It's just weird. Not speakin' the language and all. Plus, I don't think people here like me much."

"I do recall telling you that this place wasn't much else, other than something nice to look at," he snorted, catching the irritation that instantly sprang to her expression. "This city wasn't where I grew up, in any case—it's not any more hospitable than New York or London. You're just a hopeless romantic, Kathryn. _Hopeless_."

"Well, I thought it would be a nice anniversary spot!" A slight red had come to her face. He couldn't help but find it incredibly amusing to see her out of her element like this, flustered and defensive. "I always wanted to visit Europe. Not just 'cause of you, either, mister."

He shrugged, a resigned smirk on his face. "Then we'll go do something _cultured_ , if that's what you were expecting. Look at art, have a bite to eat. You don't even have to talk to anyone, _kitten_."

She scowled at him, her purse raised ever so slightly in a threatening I'm-going-to-hit-you-for-calling-me-pet-names-in-public gesture, but it must have occurred to her that likely no one understood or cared about their little conversation. She took the hand he was offering her with a challenging smile of her own.

Still, the subtle tones of self-consciousness underlying that smile only made his thoughts drift right back to his newly embellished weapon. Whether or not he allowed her sight of it would be a battle between his egotism and his sense of guilt. And when it came to his beloved, guilt always seemed to prevail.

* * *

If there could be one single thing he found least favorable about traveling abroad, it would be an empty bed. Every time he returned to their home in Boston he became positively spoiled by her warm body beside his at night. They both had always been on the more physically affectionate side when the mood struck, and being deprived of her had a way of feeling like an undeserved punishment.

With that in mind, he found this trip particularly enjoyable. If only he could take her everywhere he went; they could be partners again, outlaws, perhaps even master jewel thieves.

Outside of their hotel room, the city was surprisingly quiet. She had curled herself up against his back, fingers playfully drawing little patterns as she fell asleep. And in the nightstand, he had carefully hidden his pride and joy—just in case business had followed him. He hadn't broken down yet to acknowledge the embarrassment it would cause him for her to see it just yet.

Until it started.

"Mmm...Rey?"

She said it in a tone of voice he was intimately familiar with. Without fail it preceded a question he wouldn't want to answer.

He took the bait anyway. "Yes, _Kat?_ "

They had exchanged their little nicknames, almost like a secret handshake of sorts. Now she would cut to the quick.

"D'ya...well..." She paused, hesitating. "Y'don't regret marryin' me, right?"

For almost a full half of a minute he remained silent. Dumbfounded could have been the word to describe it. "You ask me this—what—over twenty years later? Do you suppose I'd still be here if I did?"

A small sigh escaped her. He could feel it on the nape of his neck, and despite everything it still gave him a shiver of desire. "It's just that there's so many young 'n pretty girls here, I see 'em everywhere we go. And I figured, I ain't gettin' any younger myself. I've had lots'a kids, and years of gray hair from raisin' 'em."

She paused again, striking him right in the heart with her sad demeanor. "I'm not pretty anymore, that's what I'm sayin'. You could have your pick of much better girls if you hadn't tied yourself up with me."

He released a sigh filled with at least twice as much exasperation. "You pick the strangest times to have a midlife crisis."

"So what I'm sayin' is true," she answered flatly. "I'm old and you're probably sick of me—"

With another world-weary groan he had gently broken away from her, reaching into the nightstand for a certain something. Handling it carefully, he set it down on the pillow beside her.

"You know what this is—I know you do. I've had it since shortly after we were married. A dear favorite of mine, given how many times it's saved my life." The corner of his lips curved up the slightest bit, almost a smartass air about him again. "I had it _modified_ recently. It should answer your question regarding the woman I so clearly don't love anymore."

She tilted it up in the moonlight that filtered in through the window, catching the white light on the surface. The figure it depicted was quite familiar to her, eternally enshrined on his most dangerous weapon.

The woman holding it began to chuckle softly. It was as close as his arrogant self was going to get to telling her that he would always find her absolutely stunning.

* * *

RED's Engineer tinkered away with his dear sentry gun that he had positioned on a blind corner near the entrance to their base. The day's assignment had brought them to a location where two adjacent bases faced each other across a narrow bridge, the entire setup appearing as a factory and farm to the outside onlooker. Some farcical name had been given to the 'factory' in question, but RED team had taken to calling it Doublecross amongst themselves.

Casually smoking a cigarette, the Spy watched his teammate labor away at the device. A nervous—almost mistrusting—glance was shot in his direction every few minutes, as though he might shapeshift into a dragon at a moment's notice. With their fire-loving sentinel chasing after a shadow he had seen disappear down the base's stairs, the most elusive member of the force had paused for a few moments to keep watch for their Engineer. The Sniper going about his sport a few feet away, under the protection of the sentry, would probably stand to benefit from the extra pair of eyes as well.

He snorted to himself. Not that he enjoyed playing nursemaid to these two, but their support made his job that much easier. He supposed he could afford to lend a hand now and then.

The Texan dragged his glove across his forehead, sighing. He glanced back at his teammate leaning against the dispenser with a bored attitude about him, examining his drawn revolver as he took another drag from his smoke.

A slightly incredulous laugh escaped him. "Aw—you didn't. You _did_. _Really?_ "

Frowning, the Spy picked the cigarette from his lips. "What is it?"

"That." He pointed a yellow-gloved finger at the gun. "That's just in poor taste. I'm all for rubbin' in a good victory, but when you're sleepin' with a young fella's mother, y'oughta give it a rest at some point."

The only response he could muster was a small smirk.

"Now, she's a beautiful woman and all, judgin' from the pictures at least," the Engineer went on, a slightly uncomfortable tone to his voice. "An' I understand, with your _profession_ , that you ain't exactly the most upstanding sort of man. But don't you ever get sick of takin' other guys' women, rather than havin' one of your own?"

"I can't say it's something I've ever bothered to think about." Tilting the gun up a bit, he caught the light over its surface. His tone remained as unreadable as ever. "I wouldn't expect a woman to be true to me any more than I would be to her, to be quite frank."

Just behind the Texan, the Sniper lowered his rifle, casting a glance over at his masked teammate. One of his eyebrows had quirked in what the Spy didn't dare believe was amusement.

Engineer had fallen back into working on his sentry, more out of anxious boredom than necessity. "Well, that's a shame if y'ask me. Me and my Cynthia—goin' on twenty-two years this April if y'could believe it. I wouldn't trade 'er for anything, myself. But I still say y'didn't need to stick that on your gun just to get that poor BLU bastard angry."

 _Bastard._ It was a standard insult, but one that dealt a particular punch in this instance. The Spy flicked his dead cigarette to the ground, crushing it underfoot. "Don't misunderstand, laborer." He paused—couldn't trust himself not to resort to name-calling and let his temper show. "That's not the only reason. As you said, she _is_ such a fine woman, after all—even if she is only of use to me for one purpose."

The words tasted traitorous on his lips, traitorous to himself rather than an enemy. The more indignant he was getting, the more he only turned it upon the wrong target. It reminded him of a trapped animal that gnawed its own leg off.

"Ain't my business to judge you, I s'pose," the Engineer shrugged. "But like I said, I sure don't envy you either."

With that he had walked off toward their resupply, muttering something about needing extra metal. Once the man was well out of earshot, the Spy could feel their third teammate traipsing over to the dispenser. He rummaged in it for some ammo, and the Spy with his gaze cast off toward the wall sensed his stare had fallen on him.

"So that's what shame looks like on you, eh spook?" he teased quietly, though he seemed to be pulling the punch. "Never thought I'd live to see the day."

His teeth clenched. "I don't expect you to understand my position, _bushman_."

"You _are_ askin' for it, y'know." He shook his head. "Right there for everyone to see 'n all."

"It was—" The Spy stopped short, deliberating the level of truth he wished to impart. His voice became barely audible. "—it was never meant to be...vulgar. Quite the opposite."

He flashed the barrel at his teammate. "But you are right. If nothing else, my crime is being a bit _too_ proud of her."

The Sniper smirked in return, a sort of understanding in his expression. It would take much longer, he thought, to grant himself that kind of forgiveness.

* * *

Across the battlements, BLU's Sniper stood in his nest. Their Scout whipped past him on the way back from the dispensary, throwing back a sip of Bonk as he headed out into the fray again. His wiry body came to a full stop as his teammate called out to him from his position.

"'Ey, kid! Y'seen what the spook on RED's been carryin' around lately?"

The Scout narrowed his eyes, a shadow immediately crossing his face at the mention of the word. "The hell are you talkin' about?"

An even wider smirk broke out on the Australian's face. "Oh, nothin'. Just your dear old mum carved into his gun, all sexy lookin', like a model. D'ya suppose she might do a calendar for us sometime, for our locker room?"

The loud sound of a can being crushed filled the small balcony, and before it had even hit the floor the boy was charging off to the battlements.


End file.
